Her bag hit the wall, her laptop case clattered to the floor, her blond hair was windblown and her face twisted in a way that told the world to back off. She was pissed. “God damn mother fucking traffic.” She slammed the door. “I’m from the Midwest. We don’t have this problem in the Midwest. Why are there so many fucking people in L.A?” “Hey to you, too Karen,” I said, walking over and picking up her laptop case. “Bess is in the bathroom. She’ll be out in a minute.” “You two shacked up here or what?” she asked, looking around. I figured I’d let Bess navigate the topic of us. “Let me get you something to drink. Sit down.” “It better be strong, whatever it is,” she called after me. “I’ll see what’s in here.” Bess padded down the hall barefoot. “I thought I heard you,” she said, rushing by the kitchen into the front room. “Any more from Adrian?” I found a bottle of vodka in a cupboard and dumped some in a glass of ice. “Nothing,” she said.
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